


Bilbo Baggins and The Curse of Heroic Stupidity

by TheLittleMuse



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Bilbo, Bilbo is just so done with everything, Briefly plunges into Angst and then back to Fluff, Especially Thorin, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Sass Master Bilbo, This sort of got away from me, crackish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 13:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2271195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMuse/pseuds/TheLittleMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo knows that the only difference between heroism and stupidity is the success rate.</p>
<p>Nobody seems to understand this.</p>
<p>Possibly he doesn't either because he's somehow on a quest to defeat a dragon. He doesn't know why he ever thought Gandalf was wise because this is almost certainly going to kill them all.</p>
<p>But if everybody just stopped being so determinedly idiotic they might just make it through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bilbo Baggins and The Curse of Heroic Stupidity

 

One of the first things Bilbo had learnt as a child was that the only difference between heroism and stupidity was the success rate. His mother had taught him that when, after cleaning up his cuts and bruises one too many times, she had sat him down and told him, “Being a Took may mean being wild and adventurous, but it also means _clever_. You can always outwit them. And it is never shameful to turn away from a fight you cannot win, though I know it’s a hard thing to do.”

 

He wondered what she would think of him now.

 

Because this was a thing of storybooks. Of fairytales. And as such this insane quest could go one of two ways. One, they could defeat the dragon, reclaim Erebor and become legends. Stories in their own right. Or two, they could get into the mountain (presuming they hadn’t died in some way getting there), immediately be roasted by an irate dragon and become an embarrassing footnote in history.

 

Bilbo sneezed again as the pony plodded on and Bilbo sighed. This certainly didn’t feel very heroic. Stupidity then. Which meant he was going to die.

 

Bother.

 

Well, as his father had been fond of saying, he had made his bed so he might as well sleep in it. (His mother had been equally fond of pointing out that Bungo _never_ made his bed. Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure what relevance making beds actually had on the saying.)

 

…

 

Bilbo was rather disappointed in the heroic quality of the elves. Which is to say, there wasn’t any. They seemed rather disapproving in that superior way adults had when telling off children.

 

And yes, Bilbo was well aware the hypocrisy of being annoyed at the elves for questioning the sanity of the quest, when he had been questioning it earlier, but these were _his_ dwarves, dammit! Only _he_ was allowed to call them stupid imbeciles (which he did with the utmost affection.)

 

Elves weren’t supposed to be like this. Elves were supposed to float around being mysterious and magical. Which, Bilbo realised, they did; only they were a lot less mysterious and magical close up.

 

Thorin gave the biggest arrogant smirk Bilbo had seen in his life when Bilbo told him this. And so Bilbo did the completely mature thing and told Thorin exactly what dwarves were ‘close up’.

 

Then ran.

 

…

 

Bilbo was pretty sure that if his mother were still alive she would drag him back to Bag End by his ear, telling him why he was so stupid the whole way. He could understand. Tooks just didn’t do this. They defeated their enemies cleverly. They won. They didn’t go running at orcs head on waving a sword they didn’t know how to use.

 

Somehow it worked. Bilbo smiled. The universe liked him. Bilbo’s grin grew wider. This meant he was a hero, not an idiot.

 

…

 

Bilbo was very pleased to be hugged by Thorin on the Carrock. It meant he had been fully accepted into the Company. So what if sometimes the memory warmed him at night and sometimes he found himself looking –

 

Oh, blast. He’d gone and gotten himself a crush on Thorin, hadn’t he?

 

_Thorin Oakenshield._

 

He Who Will Brood Until The End Of Days, Whilst Facing Into The Wind So His Hair And Coat Billow Dramatically Behind Him.

 

This was possibly the stupidest thing he’d done.

 

And yes, he included charging at the orc in that. And coming on the blasted quest in the first place.

 

Botheration, this made him the Blushing Maiden, didn’t it? To follow Thorin because of Love-With-A-Capital-Letter.

 

But … wait. _He_ had saved Thorin. Heroically (not stupidly, success rate, remember?). That made _Thorin_ the Blushing Maiden. Bilbo gave a sigh of relief. Thorin had the hair for it, anyway.

 

…

 

Bilbo tried to explain the difference between heroism and stupidity to the dwarves. They didn’t get it.

 

Dwalin pointed out that it wasn’t such a random line, things such as planning and ability counted. Bilbo allowed that normally, yes, but they were thirteen dwarves (and one hobbit and one wizard) against a dragon.

 

They still didn’t get it.

 

Balin, Bilbo found out, had only been pretending to be the Company’s resident cynic. In truth, he had a great weakness for tales of great heroism. In retrospect, he should have realised that when Balin narrated one of Thorin’s Dramatic Brooding Episodes with the tale of The Battle of Azanulbizar, and ending by declaring that that was exactly why Thorin was worth following. Bilbo supposed Thorin must have looked suitably Majestic whilst staring over the most pyrrhic of victories.

 

…

 

Bilbo confessing his feelings and Thorin reciprocating was rather undramatic by all accounts. But since it lead to … rather pleasant things Bilbo didn’t really mind.

 

They were at Beorn’s (who was rather too big to be _allowed_ in Bilbo’s opinion) when, buoyed up by mead, Bilbo had leant over and kissed Thorin. He had been planning on blaming the action entirely on the mead should Thorin not kiss him back. A rather clever plan in Bilbo’s opinion, and one that was thankfully not needed as Thorin kissed him back. Enthusiastically. _Very_ enthusiastically. Until Bilbo got sick of the polite clearing of throats (Balin and Dori) and the catcalls (everyone else) and decided to drag his dwarf off to bed.

 

Whenever Bilbo told his story to children they were always more fascinated by the fact Bilbo met a huge man that could turn himself into a bear than Bilbo’s little romance, for which Bilbo was eternally grateful.

 

Their parents, on the other hand…

 

As it was, everything was wonderful and lovely until Thorin decided to make some grand dramatic speech, declaring that Bilbo was his Heart and his One and a lot of Khuzdul words Bilbo didn’t understand. And that he understood if Bilbo decided to go back to the Shire after their quest was done, but Thorin would love him eternally none the less and would really rather prefer it if he stayed in Erebor.

 

At that point Bilbo shut Thorin up by kissing him (and noted this as a rather effective way of silencing Thorin for future use). Then assured Thorin he would be delighted to stay to stay in Erebor. And carried on assuring him. Numerous times.

 

Ahem

 

…

 

Bilbo did not like Mirkwood.

 

Firstly, Gandalf had left them for ‘Wizard Business,’ which sounded to Bilbo an awful lot like an excuse for a wizard get together and subsequent wizard party.

 

Bilbo tried not to imagine what a wizard party would be like.

 

The amusing image of a wizard party faded as soon as he entered the dark, damp depths of Mirkwood. Which, Bilbo thought, was a rather unimaginative name. A wood that is mirky, let’s call it Mirkwood. Wonderful. Apparently the wood had been called Greenwood in better days, so Bilbo just imagined the elves were terminally uncreative.

 

Bilbo shared this thought with Thorin. Thorin gave something like a smile in return.

 

…

 

Spiders. Of all the wretched creatures on Middle Earth, why did it have to be spiders?

 

Bilbo sighed as he unsheathed his sword. More heroic stupidity. At least this time he had his ring; no more blinding running forward, screaming like a mad man for him.

 

Good.

 

Now he just had to kill some giant spiders. Easy.

 

…

 

Bilbo would have screamed if he didn’t know it would get him caught. He just saved his stupid dwarves from the spiders and what do they do in return? Get captured by elves.

 

Wonderful.

 

Lovely.

 

He couldn’t even rant at Thorin properly because they could only speak in whispers. Thorin was not cowed. At least, he wasn’t until Bilbo found out Thorin had been refusing food. He might have been making some admirable, heroic, majestic point, but Bilbo really did not want his ridiculous dwarf to starve.

 

There had been arguments. And a staring contest.

 

Thorin won. Of course he won, he had probably been trained on how to stare majestically and commandingly from birth, whereas the only practice Bilbo had gotten was staring down his cousin Lobelia.

 

He always managed to stare down his cousin Lobelia. Obviously he’d gotten lazy without proper practice.

 

Thorin still started eating his food because he _was_ starting to feel very hungry. And if anybody asked, he could blame it on Bilbo’s nagging, not his own weakness. Bilbo didn’t mind so long as his dwarf wasn’t being such an idiot for the moment.

 

Honestly, why did he have to fall in love with such a tremendous pain in the butt?

 

Thorin objected to being called a pain in the butt. Bilbo kissed him. Thorin felt better.

 

…

 

The dwarves were objecting to Bilbo’s perfectly sensible and very efficient escape plan. Apparently they would have preferred to race through the elvenking’s halls slaying any elf that dared stop them. Apparently sneaking out in barrels was ‘cowardly.’

 

Bilbo would have pointed out all the reasons racing through the halls, slaying elves was a bad idea, but then he remembered that these were the same thirteen dwarves that were ready and willing to face down a dragon. Sensible didn’t come into it.

 

Then he remembered he had joined them. Willingly.

 

So Bilbo just complained that they were all massive pains in the butt and could they remember that he was the only one with a sword at the moment, so could they all get into the barrels, please.

 

Thorin objected, saying that _he_ was the only one allowed to be Bilbo’s pain in the butt. Which made the others snigger. Loudly.

 

Thorin was still protesting that he hadn’t meant it like _that_ when Bilbo pushed him into a barrel. Because they had gone and woken up the guards.

 

Really, if they had just gone along with his plan properly, it wouldn’t have been so … wet.

 

…

 

Bilbo didn’t like Laketown.

 

He was ill. And bundled up in far too many blankets to count.

 

That seemed to be the dwarves’ method for curing him, just keep on bundling him in blankets. Bilbo didn’t really mind so long as they kept on feeding him.

 

Apart from that the dwarves didn’t have much of an idea what to do. When he questioned them about it he found out that he had somehow become the leader of their little Company.

 

Nori pointed out he had been making all the decisions lately, and they had been good ones.

 

He couldn’t argue with that. He was still grumpy though.

 

He glared at Thorin. Thorin just kissed him (gingerly, but since Bilbo had been exuding all sorts of liquids from all sorts of places, Bilbo couldn’t blame him.)

 

He sneezed. Bilbo really didn’t like Laketown.

 

…

 

Bilbo was riddling with a dragon.

 

Exchanging wits with a worm.

 

Avoiding being fried by a firedrake.

 

Bilbo refused to believe he was that heroically stupid. Which was unfortunate because whether he believed it or not, there was a dragon on his tail.

 

Bilbo wanted to point out, for the sake of posterity, that it was all Gandalf’s fault. And certain dwarves with voices that should not be allowed and despite what they claimed, knew exactly what they were doing when they sang.

 

He was going to die. All his dwarves were going to die. Everyone in Laketown was going to die.

 

He didn’t know what to do.

 

…

 

What he shouldn’t have done, apparently, was steal the Arkenstone. Hindsight was 20/20, he supposed.

 

Because Bilbo now realised he wasn’t in a hero’s tale, he was in a tragedy. A sad song. A story of good things, good people, gone bad. A bitter tale, to be told by the fireside when all else was silent. A tale of ambition, of love. Of an honest longing for home gone sour. Of a brave exiled king brought low by sickness in his very moment of triumph.

 

He was about to be killed by the one he loved.

 

_Let me fall._

 

Bilbo closed his eyes. He refused to see his Thorin twisted into the terrible husk he had become. He would die remembering the Thorin he knew. Then Gandalf’s voice rang out, just in time as always, and he was saved.

 

For a given value of ‘saved’.

 

…

 

When Bilbo told his tale those who listened might have easily been mistaken into thinking that the king’s madness and the battle that followed was just a blip. It wasn’t their fault, Bilbo liked to skip over it.

 

What happened was this.

 

…

 

Chaos.

 

Bilbo had thought of their skirmishes with orcs as battle. He had been wrong.

 

There was no room for feelings. For heroics or stupidity. There was only survival, or death. It was calming, in a sense. There was no room for his pain over Thorin, over all the dwarves. All he had to do, from one second to the next, was survive. And survive he did. Somehow.

 

…

 

Some of the stories say that upon seeing his love in the healing tent, Thorin Oakenshield leapt out of bed and prostrated himself at his love’s feet, begging for forgiveness.

 

Bilbo insists that if Thorin had done anything so stupid, Bilbo would have smacked him until he got right back into bed. (Thorin insists that, had he been able to, that was exactly what he would have done. But he only insists this when he is safely out of Bilbo’s hearing range.)

 

What happened then in the uncertain months when Bilbo stayed in Erebor, but not by the king’s side, goes unchronicled. Nevertheless, it is safe to say that after those painful months it was clear to Bilbo that Thorin was truly sorry and the goldsickness wasn’t coming back. So Bilbo, having been rather unhappy without his annoying dwarf, took Thorin back.

 

To Bilbo’s chagrin (and not so secret delight) he had accidently become the stuff of legend. In the tales and songs he was sharp of wit and bright of eye. He had a bright gleam and a quick smile that instantly attracted the dwarf king. In the stories there were only heroics with no trace of fear. They left out the cold, wet nights, lack of food and petty squabbling, as stories do.

 

Whenever Bilbo told his story for the children he always made sure to emphasise that the important things weren’t the grand heroics or battles, but the family, and the love, and the home they had fought for.

 

And then some child who was too clever for their own good would always point out that to gain the family and the love and the home they had _had_ to go on an adventure. So, really, the adventure was the important thing.

 

And Bilbo would grumble until the children ran away giggling.

 

…

 

What the stories don’t say is this – after the mountain was claimed it was fairly boring. True, there was the ongoing Saga of Thorin and Bilbo part 32 – Awkward Looks and Numerous Apologies. True, there was the occasional assassination attempt because when newly unexiled kings reclaim their kingdom, which also just happens to have a very large pile of treasure, people want a piece. Or several.

 

But reclaiming a homeland involves a lot more than just kicking out the resident dragon. It also involved paperwork. So much paperwork. Thorin thought Balin was trying to kill him.

 

And where were they getting the paper from anyway? They were struggling to get enough food.

 

And then there were all the bodies to bury. At first it was heartbreaking, of course, but then it became a matter of digging holes, throwing bodies in and trying to pretend he was still paying the proper respects.

 

And then there was the pest problem. Mahal above, the pest problem. Thorin found himself wishing Smaug had just been a bit more vigilant when he was in Erebor, had the dragon no shame?

 

Then there were the old Ereborians coming home. He loved them all; his mountain was filling up again. There were just so many.

 

And that meant more paperwork.

 

…

 

All in all, the story ends like this, if it must end at all: The battle was fought, the mountain won, love was reclaimed, Erebor rebuilt and all was happy and well.

 

If you wish for more, go elsewhere. Another hobbit, perhaps.


End file.
